


Hold on to what we've got

by Captain_Jowl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Best Friends, But not exactly, Day 5, GW2020, M/M, POV Ian, Season/Series 10, kind of 10x11 fill-in, right after the chair incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Jowl/pseuds/Captain_Jowl
Summary: Gallavich Week 2020, Day 5 - Best Friends.Something isn’t right, Ian thinks as he watches Mickey exhaling a shaky breath, storming out of the door and leaving a broken chair and a perplexed store manager behind.He however doesn’t know what exactly isn’t right.What he knows is that it’s not normal for Mickey to lose his cool in such a spectacular manner over the wrong chair color.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 46
Kudos: 268
Collections: Gallavich Week 2020





	Hold on to what we've got

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for Gallavich Week 2020, Day 5 - Best Friends.
> 
> I started it as a 10x11 fill-in right after the chair scene, but it turned out to be sliiiightly canon divergent. So this is how imagine a scene right after Mickey storms out of the store could go.

Something isn’t right. 

_Something isn’t right_ , Ian thinks as he watches Mickey exhaling a shaky breath, storming out of the door and leaving a broken chair and a perplexed store manager behind. 

He however doesn’t know what exactly isn’t right.

What he knows is that it’s not normal for Mickey to lose his cool in such a spectacular manner over the wrong chair color. He may be impatient and he has his anger issues, but still, he would never act this way over some piece of furniture.

It can’t be it. Is it some kind of a scam Mickey’s trying to pull without telling him? Is he trying to play it up to score a discount? It didn’t look like he was acting, though.

Ian isn’t sure whether Mickey will wait for him outside or power walk all the way home, so he offers a quick apology to Brooks with a promise to call him back because of the expenses and hurries after Mickey’s retreating figure. 

“Mick!” he calls out. Usually he would catch up with him in a beat, but his damn leg won’t let him move faster, so he’s left chasing after his fiancé who’s still stomping down the street dramatically. “Mickey!”

Mickey stops at the corner of the street almost a whole block from the store, lighting up a cigarette with shaking hands. Ignoring the throbbing in his leg, Ian shuffles towards Mickey and stands before him, automatically shielding him from the people on the street – he knows that he finds comfort in it. 

Mickey inhales a deep breath of smoke and flares his nostrils to let it out. He looks at Ian, looks away, his eyes watery and red-rimmed. 

He just looks so _upset_ and Ian’s heart breaks a little bit. It’s definitely not a scam. 

“Mick, what’s going on?” he asks.

His question is met with silence punctuated by Mickey sniffing and fiddling with the sleeve of his jean jacket.

“Is this about the chairs? I’m sorry, I should've double-checked. We have time, I’m gonna find another caterer…”

“Fuck those chairs,” mutters Mickey around a cigarette in his mouth, his chest still heaving from the outburst of emotions he had in the store. “It’s just…” he stops and shrugs aggressively.

“It’s just what? Talk to me,” Ian pleads and takes a step closer.

Mickey is still not meeting his eyes and Ian hates it so much. Because when Mickey is like that, when he is avoiding eye contact, it means that his emotions are too much for him to process. Ian wants to help, wants to make it all better.

“Mickey, please. ‘Member what my therapist said about us talking?”

Ian puts a hand on Mickey’s forearm and strokes it a couple of times, trying to calm him down. His boyfriend sniffs again, hands still shaky, but Ian knows that he broke the ice by bringing up therapy.

“It’s dad,” Mickey says.

And yes. Of course, it’s fucking Terry. 

Mickey brushed off his questions about Terry’s visit and Ian decided that Mickey managed to deal with the morning stress. He should’ve known better – he knows exactly what kind of effect Terry has on Mickey. He wants to say so many things. Tell him about things like unintentional search for father figure’s approval, suppression of emotions, ways to work through all that. However, he’s not here to tell Mickey what to do, he’s here to listen. So he listens.

“This whole ceremony thing was about Terry in the beginning,” Mickey says, rubbing his eyebrow. “But then I decided that it doesn’t have to be, you know? My first wedding…” he starts and both of their faces darken. “My first wedding wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about Svet. It was about my fucking dad, about his heritage, about his power over me.”

Ian takes the forgotten cigarette from Mickey’s hand and takes a few puffs, listening carefully. 

“After the asshole came to our doorstep today, I’ve realized that I’m making my second wedding about him, again. Even when I’m _marrying_ you, it’s still about my dad,” Mickey exhales a shaky breath and Ian offers the half-finished cigarette back. Mickey takes it, inhales. “I fucking hated it. And I wanted to make something about me, for once. About us. And then this old bat had to be a fucking bitch. And then the fucking chairs… and to me it looked like Terry fucking winning, again. And I kind of…lost it.”

Ian understands enough about projecting, so he nods.

“Why didn’t you tell me though? You know you can tell me anything,” he says slowly.

“Sorta didn’t wanna.”

“You thought I’m gonna be what? Teasing you about wanting to have a normal wedding? I would be much more involved if I knew why it is so important to you.”

“I don’t need you to fucking pretend–” he says and hides his eyes again. “Look… I know that you don’t give a damn about the flowers and the chairs and the music. You didn’t wanna do this shit in the first place. So why do you even care?”

“Cause you’re my best friend,” Ian says passionately. “And if I’m having a wedding ceremony with my best friend, for real, no pretenses – I want it to be perfect, too.”

That startles Mickey, his eyebrows jumping high on his forehead as his eyes dart back to Ian’s face.

“The fuck I am,” Mickey predictably ignores the second part of Ian’s statement. Ian gets it. Yeah, probably too much sappiness to process in the middle of the crowded street. “It’s fucking Mandy.” 

“Maybe when we were kids. But since then… so much shit’s happened since then, Mick.”

He doesn’t know how to explain it.

Ian loves him. Sure, he loves him romantically, however he also loves him the way he loves Mandy, the way he loves Lip, the way you can love another human being.

If the time apart didn’t bring them closer together, all the shit they’ve been through as teenagers and the time in prison definitely did. It glued them together better than anything could. Watching each other’s backs, injustice of the system, mood swings in the prison environment – they went through it all.

And it just made it all more between them: more inside jokes, more secrets, more meaningful looks. More understanding. Just _more_.

Ian sees the same thoughts running through Mickey’s head, sees his shoulders relaxing a tiny bit. He doesn’t look like he is on the verge of tears anymore.

He looks around as if he’s suddenly remembered that they’re standing in the middle of the street, having a moment.

Ian inhales the smoke for the last time and throws the finished cigarette on the ground.

“Let’s go home, make a few calls,” he says and tugs on Mickey’s sleeve. “We gonna get those chairs you want. And the lilies. I really did like the blue ones.” 

“Yeah, they looked real good,” answers Mickey quietly. He still looks defeated, but his breathing has calmed down and there is the tiniest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.

Ian smiles back. “Just don’t run away from me again, okay? My leg kinda hurts, I can’t chase after you like that.”

“Shit,” Mickey swears and looks at Ian’s ankle boot as if he can assess the possible damage through the fabric of his jeans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even… ”

“I’m okay,” Ian reassures him, although he knows that he will need an ice-pack and painkillers when they get back home. “Just need to rest. Really want to sit down, to be honest.”

“We’re heading home, Gallagher. And I’m calling Sandy. I appreciate the effort but you’re fucking useless at wedding planning,” he softens his words by patting Ian on the cheek. 

“Hell yeah, I’m starving, ” Ian says and makes a mental note to drag Mickey to the Alibi this evening. He has a plan.

* * *

Later that day they lie in bed, facing each other. They forgot to pull the blinds together and the street lamp throws a thin line of light into the room, illuminating the ring on Mickey’s finger. Ian reaches and traces the silver band; the metal is warm from the heat of Mickey’s skin. 

_More than anything._

“How do you always know?” Mickey asks quietly. 

Ian raises his gaze and meets his eyes. 

“How do I know what?”

“Just…” Mickey licks his lips, choosing his words. “You always seem to know how to handle me.”

Ian snorts and Mickey pinches his arm with an eye-roll.

“You know what I mean, chuckles. You just… know how to talk to me, you know? Always know what to tell me to get me out of my head.”

Ian can point out that he is Mickey’s partner, his fiancé, and that’s why he knows. But it’s not really that. There is another reason. 

“It’s cause you’re my best friend,” Ian repeats what he’s already told Mickey today. 

“Fuck off with that,” Mickey says. “Mandy is. Lip is.” 

Mickey doesn’t believe that he means it. Ian doesn’t want to waste time with pointless explanations right now, so he kisses him instead.

He is marrying the love of his life and his best friend. And if it takes some time to prove it to him… Well, Ian has time.

**Author's Note:**

> They're best friends :')


End file.
